


Surprise

by adelindschade



Category: To All the Boys I've Loved Before Series - Jenny Han, To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before (2018)
Genre: F/M, Heavy make out, Just Bear With Me, a little humor based, and a very excited peter, but just a smudge shy of it, but not in the context you think, my dirtiest work to date, not really smut, oral may be mentioned, some lingerie, this one is full of surprises
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-28
Updated: 2018-08-28
Packaged: 2019-07-03 20:31:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15826389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adelindschade/pseuds/adelindschade
Summary: Lara Jean sees potential on Peter's eighteenth birthday to test the waters.The one where Peter Kavinsky gets a very pleasant surprise





	Surprise

**Author's Note:**

> This is a prompt dedicated to: tumblr's ZADEFAN  
> "Can you write a scene with lara jean and peter with hot and steam makeout?" 
> 
> GIRL, YOU ALREADY KNOW. I GOTCHU. 
> 
> I added a little bit of my own flare. Tell me what you think
> 
> (Psst. It was a bitch to finish - write, delete, write, delete, write, delete, etch.... sigh. Sorry for the delay).
> 
> WARNING:  
> Half fluff, some mention of sexual stuff, and lots of affectionate displays. If you're easily squeamish about the hot and heavy stuff, maybe this won't be your cup of tea. If you like that ish, carry on!

“Is this some fifty-shades shit?”

“You know I don’t like that kind of language, Peter.”

“Sorry, Covey.”

He smiled meekly. He wasn’t sure if Lara Jean saw his remorse – she had blindfolded him only a minute before. She had bought a special one from the store, meant to be a sleeping mask with full coverage. It prevented him from peaking, much to his disappointment. (It was really, _really_ soft, too. He was pretty sure he could keep it and he had every intention to reuse it. Just like those Korean face masks Lara Jean shares with him. How he functioned without half the things Lara Jean introduced to him was beyond his comprehension.)

However, he was very excited to see what she had planned for him. Earlier in the week she hinted at a very special surprise. Not sex, she specified. Not that he expected them to suddenly jump from making out in his car to shedding clothes. Even if the occasion was his eighteenth birthday.

She was somewhere near, he knew that much. He could smell her coconut shampoo when she passed him. She was shuffling around for something in his room, going back and forth. Pulling out a drawer here or there. She also had a scent of… he couldn’t place it. Amber, maybe, but also citrusy? Natural but not natural. It certainly was a new perfume compared to

“What are you looking for?”

“Shh.”

“Don’t ‘ _shh_ ’ the birthday boy.”

“I will ‘ _shh_ ’ the birthday boy as I please,” she chastised. “Just stay still and look pretty. I’m almost done.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He loved their playful banter, especially she wound herself up. It was just all the more satisfying to wind her down. He always had the magic touch to do the job.

“Okay, I’m done but keep the mask on,” Lara Jean instructed. He nodded and leaned forward, ready to intercept her as she stepped between his knees. His hands reached forward, eager to reel her in.

“Not so quick,” she slapped his hands away. He was taken aback, hands suspended after the initial sting. He pouted.

“I don’t like this present,” he whined.

“You will in a second,” she assured. “Be patient, Peter.” 

He could envision her face smiling delightfully down at him. Her deep, expressive eyes full of mirth and adoration meant just for him and him only. (Maybe Kitty, too, but he wasn’t counting family.) She oozed warmth, inviting him in like a crackling fire on a cold winter’s night. Tendrils of her hair – curled, he noticed earlier, which he definitely complimented (much to Lara Jean’s delight)– fell forward and tickled his face. She was hovering over him, surrounding him with her pleasant scent – the new fragrance that radiated autumn and the lingering effect of her most recent baking adventure (snickerdoodles).

“We’ve been together for a couple months now,” she narrated. He nodded. Her fingers were distracting. They were combing his hair, encircling his ears, and then traced invisible patterns on his neck.

“We’ve had our hurdles but overall, I think we’re in a really good place,” she continued. He moaned quietly, enjoying her gentle touch. His entire backside tingled. He was beginning to space out. Lara Jean’s soothing touch was lulling him to sleep. Not what he envisioned for his surprise but at the moment, he wasn’t complaining.

“I think it’s time we take it up a notch,” her words brought him back.

“Like… how?” Peter’s curiosity spiked.

“I was thinking about how we usual show affection. I will never, ever get tired of kissing you,” she said. He smiled boastfully. He could say the same thing about her. “For your birthday, I thought maybe we’d spruce it up a little bit. Take a few more liberties. Amend the contract in a way.”

His brows furrowed, imagining all the scenarios in which her words could imply.

“I don’t want you to take off your mask yet,” she flattened her hands on his cheeks, soothing his temples with her thumb. “I want you to use your other senses. Touch is the most important. When you cut off one sense, the other ones heighten.”

“Kinky,” he shrugged, “but I’m down.”

“Peter,” she whined. “I’m trying to be romantic.”

“I know, Lara Jean,” he smiled, “and I love you for that.”

“Love you, too,” she mumbled against his lips – kissing him briefly.

“Wait,” he murmured. She paused. “What about taste?” He licked his lips for added effect.

She laughed and he could already imagine the blush on her cheeks rising. The mild thud of her palm against his head followed and he feigned injury.

“No,” she giggled. “Get your mind out of the gutter.”

“Don’t hit the birthday boy,” he pouted.  

“I will hit the birthday boy when he’s being a pervert,” she shook with laughter. “Okay, are you ready for your present?”

“Yes, please,” he wiggled at the end of his bed eagerly.

“Okay, feel free to touch. I’ll tell at you if you get too close to where you shouldn’t be.”

Peter was an equal mix of both of nervous and excitement. He raised both hands to where he had intended them – around her waist. She was wearing something nice – it felt expensive. Like those fancy bridal robes. It was very thin. He pinched the material.

“Uh, _me_ , Peter,” Lara Jean chuckled. “Not my clothes.”

“Shh,” he responded. “It’s my birthday. I get to appreciate my present, wrapping paper and all.” That made her laugh heartily. “This is nice. You should wear it often. It’s silky.”

“Its definitely not something I can wear in public, Peter.”

That garnered a surprise and his lips shaped an ‘o’ at the thought of something risqué.

“Well, you should wear it around me more often, then. I like how it feels.”

“You can appreciate my robe later,” she giggled. “We have only an hour and a half to ourselves.”

His hands drifted lower, meeting warm, tender flesh.

“What do we have here,” he grinned. He gripped the flesh, gauging what it possibly could belong to. It felt firm under his palm and he ran his course fingertips over smooth surface. Given her height, assuming where the robe ended… he was pretty sure he was getting a good chuck of thigh. It felt very pleasant. It smelled pleasant, too. He leaned forward, trying to figure out what the scent was.

“What are you doing, Peter?” she trembled with laughter.

“I’m using my nose, Lara Jean,” he replied matter-of-fact.

“Why?” she continued to shake.

“Because you smell really good but I don’t know what the smell is,” he explained. “What lotion are you using?”

“Amber and jasmine, Peter. You’re smelling amber and jasmine.” She shook her head. He felt her hair swish back-and-forth, tickling his cheek. “You bought me this lotion from Bath-and-Body for Valentine’s day.”

“Oh, good,” he grinned. “Well, I do have good tastes.”

“If you lick me, I swear to God,” Lara Jean erupted into another fit. She practically vibrated with laughter in front of him. “No licking, Peter.”

It just came apparent to him where his nose may be – and how close it was to another thing – and his face suddenly felt very, _very hot_. The context of her words added another element of heat he was not prepared for and he had to think of something to change the subject. His mind could not go there.

Not yet, at least.

“Peter!” she scowled in a squeak. He received a smack on the shoulder.

He didn’t mean to say that out loud.

But when the opportunity presents itself…

“I’m not ashamed to say I’m a strong advocate for oral,” he shrugged. He could imagine the redness rise on her cheeks. What a delicious sight. “It’s mutually beneficial.”

“Pervert,” she scowled.

“You say that now,” he grinned.

“Keep talking and see where it gets you,” she reprimanded but he could detect the amusement in her voice.

He boldly moved his hands around, until they were – ah, yes, the _butt_. Nice and perky, just like he remembered. Those jeans made it feel nice and snug but in its Demin-free glory, her skinny jeans didn’t do it any justice.

“Who’s underwear is this?” The material was longer than usual.

“It’s yours,” Lara Jean replied.

“Why are you wearing my underwear?” Not that he’s complaining. He’s not. He most certainly is not. He just wants to peak to see which pair. He bet she looked delectable in them.

“Because I couldn’t find the right shorts. Your boxers do the job.”

His brows arched, interested in the picture before him.

“Which ones?”

“I don’t know. They’re black with white on the top.”

Damn. She chose his most comfortable pair of Hanes.

“Wait,” he paused and suspended his hands. “This is okay, right?”

“I’ll allow it,” she permitted. He could hear the smirk in her voice. His face split into a grin and he returned to his previous menstruations, cupping it from underneath and lifting.

 “See, this right here is what dreams are made of,” he spoke. He squeezed her cheeks, enjoying her responding _squeak_ entirely way too much. “You have the recipe for the perfect butt – the right amount of round, perk, and a bounce. You know it’s damn good when you can lay your head on it.” He demonstrated by turning her around, under her backside was facing his front. He pulled her closer to him until he could rest his cheek on said-body part.

Lara Jean yelped.

“Peter Grant Kavinsky! I can’t believe you’re sleeping on my butt! You’re such a pervert!”

“Girl,” he made a face, “come on. I never slept on your butt. This thing here is a masterpiece.”

She turned back around, resetting his hands on her hips. “Hands only,” she scowled.

He travelled upwards, assessing the territory. He had already made himself quite acquainted with her legs. When they made out on his bed the week before, he made a point to make the best of the circumstance. Her love of cute skirts equally benefitted him. He could caress her legs for ages.

“I feel a… bow…” he toys with the strings. He tugged and it came undone. The hems of her robe tapered over his knees.

He could hear Lara Jean’s breath hitch.

His hands returned to her stomach – bare and unclothed. His brows skyrocketed.

“Holy shit,” he uttered.

She massaged his scalp and neck reassuringly.

Her skin felt hot under his. He had touched some of her stomach before, teasing little touches when her shirt hitched up. He trailed upward from her belly button. He counted each rib as his finger scaled up each ridge. He knew any moment he’d come across something else entirely and he was doing his best to hide his trembling.

He paused. He was a coward.

“Is this okay?”

“Yes,” she affirmed.

He swallowed.

He hadn’t been there before. She had never let him get that far up. She had always so conservative about that part of her body. Now she was changing her tune, opening up areas he had otherwise been barred from.

To say he was nervous was the understatement of the century.

“You’re so weird,” Lara Jean shook her head. “A minute ago, you were talking about the benefits of oral and faceplanted my butt but you’re scared of touching my boobs?”

When she put it that way…?

He tried to not be rough. She didn’t seem to wince or retract when his palms came up. Her breasts were padded, concealed by a bra. He grazed his fingers over the mounds, admiring their plumpness and the dip between.

Odd. She always complained about not having _average_ boobs. Peter would disagree. He liked the size and shape. He could sleep comfortably on them. Preferably, _between_ them.

“Seriously?” Lara Jean chuckled. “What’s with you using your face to feel me?”

He had pulled her incredibly close, enough to rest his cheek against her right breast where he could hear her heart pound. He nuzzled closer, moving his head slightly to the valley between her breasts. His nose grazed the flesh portion. He felt her chin rest atop of his head. Her fingers stroked his hair and neck. It felt like absolute heaven.

His arms curled around her waist, ghosting over her butt.

“You’re very cuddly, Lara Jean.”

“I’m glad you think so,” she reciprocated.

They seemed to all but melt into each other.

“You know,” she whispered huskily. His whole body tingled. “You can touch it. Again. This isn’t a one-time show.”

 He didn’t have to be told twice. No longer ghosting, his fingers clawed out and cupped that magnificent booty. After a moment of admiration, squeezing it one more time for good measure, he began to venture elsewhere – exploring waters he had previously never been (not with Lara Jean, that is.) His finger trailed up her spine, to where the bra clipped. His finger tested the waters, slipping underneath the back strap and pulled it out.

“Uh, that’s a no,” Lara Jean shook her head. She pushed his head away and slapped his arm away.

“Copy that, Roger,” he acknowledged. “Sorry, Covey.” He kissed her chest just under her chin.

“I’m open to that possibility,” she wavered, “only if there is something between us. Like a shirt or something.”

Well, if that didn’t make his heart spring, what would? That was progress – incredible progress, as a matter of fact. Thankfully the mask veiled his shocked expression – it was almost comical how wide his eyes got when she said that.

“I really, really like this,” he mumbled against her chest. His cheek was pressed in the center of her chest, nose grazing one breast, chin resting atop his head, and her arms engulfing his neck with heavenly fingers playing with his hair.  He breathed in her delectable scent – amber and jasmine with a hint of cinnamon. Her hair tickled his face and a strong whiff of coconut overwhelmed his senses.

His arms had wrapped around her tightly, leaving absolutely no space between them. He could feel the warmth of her skin seep into the fabric of his shirt. It was the best feeling in the world.

“Me, too,” she whispered. She rocked herself in his arms, enjoying the comfort that came with being in his arms. Strong, protective, and gentle.

Sometimes he was assertive, like when he trapped her between his body and car behind the school for an impromptu-open-mouthed kissed. There were some moments where he commanded – and when he did, her toes curled and body burned – and there were moments like this where he was attentive and gentle, stroking her skin delicately.

“So, what’s the amended contract like? Hit me with it, Covey,” he teased. “List it out.”

She smiled into the crown of his head, breathing in the smell of his shampoo. It was a masculine musk – ocean and evergreen – and it did him much justice.

“You can touch my butt – publicly – _within reason_ , nothing obnoxious, okay?” She didn’t think she’d enjoy it that much but when he admired her rear asset with his tentative hands… well, colored her surprised. “As for my boobs, that’s private. So long there is something covering them, you can appreciate them freely but privately”

“ _Yes_ ,” he grinned.  “Can I keep my head here?”

“Yes,” she giggled, “but I would have thought you’d like to at least make out for the last hour.”

That got the gears going and his head shot up, surprising Lara Jean who yelped when her chin was promptly bumped.

“Ow,” she pouted.

“I’m so sorry, Covey,” he soothed, hugging her closer and nuzzling her neck. “Better?”

“A little,” she smiled, leaning into his nuzzling. He kissed it tenderly. She hummed, enjoying the sensation. He took an extra liberty to catch some of her skin in his teeth, garnering a yelp from Lara Jean.

“You’re going to leave a mark,” she remarked.

“Not that it would matter since everyone knows your mine,” he grinned. “Feel free to return the favor.”

“I’m not giving you a hickey,” she laughed. “Not when your party is tomorrow. Speaking of which – _this_ – will not leave your room. If you ever want to lay your head on my boobs or butt again, no one else will hear the dirty details of your newest discovery.”

He nodded hastily. He wouldn’t – ever – but he knew Lara Jean had her reservations since the ski trip incident. She had her precautions for a reason he wasn’t going to undermine.

“Hey,” he mused, “can I take off this mask now? I want to see my present.”

“Okay, you can take it off.” She laughed. “Oh, another part of the contract – shirts are optional. Well, so long I’m wearing a bra or something. I’m not going completely bare. You can though.”

He never shed his shirt faster in his life. He heard her breath hitch and his ego skyrocketed. He loved when he made Lara Jean speechless. More, he loved when he impressed her (it was almost always the other way around).

He gauged her face – face now free of the mask – and smirked.

“Like what you see, Covey?”

His voice was low and husky. He could tell the moment he said it she was effected. Her eyes skimmed over his chest then back to his face, dark eyes darker than usual. He definitely _liked_ that.

If anyone was liking what they saw, consider Peter a casualty. Lara Jean looked just good as she smelled or felt. Her robe was a shimmery cream thing that was split open after he had untied it. Her hair fell over her chest in tendrils, covering the straps of her bra.

He always liked her in blue but purple – dark purple, rather – was easily the best contender for a flattering color. Matched with his underwear, the girl could have killed him just by looking like _that_ alone. Thankfully he was sitting down.

“I’d give you an 8.” She teased, tilting her head and scrunching her nose in the adorable way that always won him over.

“What? No,” he grinned. “Get your cute ass over here.”

He swept her forward, pulling both of them flat on the bed – with Peter on top. She fell down with a squeal, clutching the back of his neck with one hand and gripped his arm with another.

He felt so at home – staring into her eyes, soothed by the sounds of her laughter and the sight of her charming little smile. The blush on her cheeks was irresistible.  He supported most of his weight on his forearms, each spaced out around her and pinning her underneath him.

She hooked her leg around his hip and his hand itched to hook it, feeling her skin under his thumb just as he had in the Jeep.

“There’s no one else like you, Covey,” he whispered roughly.

Her eyes grew a darker color than ever before and her eyes appeared sultrier. 

She was the one to the initiative. She pulled his face down to meet her lips, taking his breath away. He tried to not crush her but all he wanted to do was slide his arm under her and tangle her hair in his fingers.

She took his bottom lip, nipping it lightly. He grinned. He loved when her flirtatious side came out. It was delightful. Her skin burned his fingertips. She was too hot for her own good.

He didn’t realize he acted on his whims, sliding his palm under her back and playing with the soft piece of skin just above the fabric of his underwear. Her stomach seared his own, radiating a heat unlike they have ever felt. Thank God for her bra – one of few thing keeping him from losing absolute control.

He fit so perfectly between her legs. He liked the feeling of being engulfed by her. Her ankles skimmed the back of his thighs and he had never hated or been more grateful for denim in his life. He could have been set afire and couldn’t have known the difference.

Her fingers moved from his face, to the back of his neck, and down his spine.

He couldn’t help but shiver.

_Holy shit._

_She was going to be the end of him._

When he deepened the kiss, swallowing her enticing little sounds, her grip tightened and clutched his back with a sense of urgency. He was pretty sure he even felt her buck.

He needed to establish some boundary or else he was going to release.

They weren’t even doing it for real and she had this tremendous effect on him.

He wondered if his jeans concealed his growing excitement.

He couldn’t help himself. He was addicted.

 

“We should take a break,” she interrupted. She was breathing heavily. Her eyes flickered open and she visibly swallowed. His hair tickled her face and he nuzzled into her neck, breathing her scent and feeling her wild pulse with his tongue.

For once, his rationality took precedent, and he nodded in agreement. It killed him to part with her. They were practically made for each other.

He rolled over, laying beside her. It felt so natural. She had retied her robe, concealing parts previously exposed. He pouted but then again, he probably couldn’t have resisted the temptation. (But she looked appetizing in that itty-bitty robe, too.)

“How much time do we have?” he wondered.

“Twenty-five minutes,” she replied.

That took him by surprise. They were making out that long? It barely felt that way.

“We should probably get dressed,” he mused.

“Yeah,” she nodded, still recovering from his bruising kiss. Her chest rose and fell quickly, just like his. His hair was tussled, when she was mussed it up during their moment – or many moments. She lost count.

She already planned her outfit for his birthday. It was folded on top of the dresser. Her favorite jacket, a blue button blouse, and brown pleated skirt. Give him some something tantalizing for the night if she neglected to button up one less button. She’d keep her hair down. Her hair was curled to perfection but Peter managed to mess it up when he pulled it – a habit she found she like of liked. Now it was mediocre wavy, if she brushed it, which she would because she would not be coming to his party for everyone to judge her near-sex hair.

He already saw her near-naked. It would make no difference of she shed her robe and slipped on her change of clothes. So, she did, ignoring his expression of protest when she bounced off the bed’s edge.

“Here,” she tossed him his shirt. She almost stepped on it. He slowly pulled it over his head and then returned his intense gaze on her backside. She could feel herself burn.

She shed the robe, letting it fall to her feet, and replace it with the unbuttoned blouse. She turned slightly, catching his heated gaze from her peripheral. He leaned forward, hands clasped on his lap, and never wavered in his stare. She blushed heavily.

She buttoned it up quickly, leaving just enough of an opening for his imagination to spin wildly. She shimmied on the skirt around her blouse, tucking it in.

Peter found this level of domestic intimacy very, very reassuring. And arousing.

_Damn it._

“Are you alright?”

Lara Jean’s voice conjured him out of his thoughts and he offered a genuine smile.

“Better than alright,” he winked.

She laughed delightfully.

“Can I use your bathroom?”

“You’ve been here a thousand times, of course,” she shot him a confused look.

He kissed her cheek on his way out of her room. Once in the bathroom, he locked it behind him, and leaned against the wall.

 _Think of lacrosse laps. Something unpleasant_.

He breathed heavy, too heavy. Hopefully she couldn’t hear him.

_That scene in Friday the 13 th where… _

Nope, not even gore could alleviate the pressure.

He was not going to wank himself off in Lara Jean’s bathroom. Absolutely not. He just needed his buddy to go away. He groaned as quietly as he could, careful not to alert Lara Jean. He turned on the faucet full blast, shutting out all other noise.

Apparently, the trick to killing a boner is imagining still having a boner when the inspiration-of-said-boner’s dad see’s you with said-boner.

The idea of Dr. Covey walking in on Peter, guilty with a boner, made Peter’s stomach flop. He’d be barred from seeing Lara Jean easily for a week. The possibility of not being having Lara Jean in reach was motivation enough for his buddy to recede.

He turned off the faucet and greeted Lara Jean enthusiastically as she waited for him by her desk, bag in hand.

“Ready to go? Greg texted me – you weren’t answering you phone. He’s half set up. We should help him out. It is your birthday party after all,” she pointed. Or tried. Her arms were trapped against his chest.

“Definitely,” he agreed, kissing her cheek. “You look gorgeous by the way.”

“Thank you,” she beamed. She patted his chest. “You didn’t brush your hair. It’s a mess. I have a comb in my bag. We can fix it in the Jeep. Let’s head on out.”

The thought enticed him. He liked when Lara Jean played with his hair, a lot.

“After you,” he beckoned. She tilted her head curiously and took the exit he presented. With her petite figure heading him, he took the opportunity to slap her behind. She squeaked, rubbing the spot he had playfully struck. She shot him a dry look but he could see the clear amusement behind it.

He _definitely_ enjoyed his birthday gift.


End file.
